


Between a Rock Type and a Hard Place

by zombiejuicer



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Gen, featuring a trainer that prefers the wild area and some quiet, ill continue this if i feel like it soon, mention of gordie being a mamas boy and raihan being an absolute freak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21584509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiejuicer/pseuds/zombiejuicer
Summary: Borderline smut without the actual fucking, but enough to where I should mention it. More of an exploration of his character than anything. Gordie feels he needs to congratulate you after your hard earned win, and you feel like you've earned something a bit more.[Alt. : sometimes rock type trainers have more rocks in their head than on the field. ]
Relationships: Gordie/reader, Makuwa | Gordie/Reader, player character - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	Between a Rock Type and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

> I'll probably continue this in a better, decent manner soon. But for now you get my word vomit about how much I like Gordie, having just finished the new game.

It wasn't planned. Yet, there that neat little forgotten storage room sat, softly nestled in the back of his gym- almost like it was expecting him to practically stumble into it with you. This wasn't a habit of his by any stretch of the imagination, regardless of what people believed because of his gratuitous photoshoots and media presence. He had some semblance of standards, lest his mother roll over in her future grave. Gordie did not fuck his fans. 

"But s'why not, Gordie?" Raihan had slung a big, muscular arm around him whilst walking home from a particularly festive party at the choice Budew Drop Inn, a few weeks back. The weatherman's words were slurring, fighting through multitudes of drinks not unscathed. The supposed get together was for appearances sake, so the public could get their fill of precious gym leaders to gawk at and get autographs from. And, of course, free drinks provided for by Rose and Co.; with that, no one could deny a quick, simple Corviknight's ride away.

Not that Gordie minded a few doting fans. If he did, he wouldn't have agreed to yet another photoshoot that next week. What he did mind, though, was taking advantage of someone's baseless infatuation for his own private desires.

"I've already told you, mate. It's just not my style." Gordie shrugged off the tall dark and handsome, though neglecting to step away just in case Raihan teetered a bit too far from the steady safety of his arm. A regular Zigzagoon he was, when drunk. 

"Suit yourself. Shit's impeccable, if y'ever get a chance, though." 

Gordie rudely snorted in response, gravely hoping for the best that the dimmed street lamps hid the red cheeks his mother found to be so cute. 

"You know, you only get that color when you've been caught red handed..." His mother would say, pinching his cheek like he was fresh caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

He didn't fuck fans.

...But you weren't a fan. At least, from what his foggy mind could assert as his sweaty hands found your chest over the shirt you wore, pushing him up against the room's wall, looking oh-so pretty like that.

He could almost smell the winds of the Wild Area on your skin and clothes. You looked to be a rural type, well suited to toughing out things like blizzards and sandstorms. That would explain how his challenge only took you a matter of what felt like minutes to complete. And why your pokémon were rather adept at holding strong in the low visibility. The wilds could do that to a person- just like his mountain could. He tried not to think about his loss.

You seemed hardy. He liked that. Sturdy as boulders. His face fell into your neck and started to kiss with fervor while your tiny hands, freshly burned from a recent curry mishap, gingerly began to paw at his zipper. He could simply just die. 

"This s'alright?" His head whipped up, around, and back to reality when you asked. It was the longest string of words he had heard you say since the battle itself had ended- when you had shoved your dusty hands into your pockets and sauntered up to where he stood holding your shiny new badge, looked him up and down for an endless moment before simply stating: 

"I win." The way you wore that smug grin was more intoxicating than any liquor that could actually stand to get Raihan drunk. It almost made him forget he lost.

It had been only short work from there. You had lingered in his handshake for a moment too long, sat in the lobby fiddling with the badge to get it to fit in its holster just a minute extra. It was enough. Within those precious moments, Gordie had decided he needed to offer a rare congratulations. After all, it's not often he gets utterly trounced like that. Two of his best pokémon down in two hits. He should've probably been proper mad about that, if you hadn't looked up at him with those big Deerling eyes so soon after the fact. 

He offered to clean up your team for you. Usually only self-proclaimed rivals did that for one another, but he was feeling rather generous. And maybe a bit smitten at the sight of you. 

"... Well?" Gordie swallowed thickly and glanced away, realizing he'd drifted off. 

"Oh. Oh, of course, yes." Everything down to your voice was simply a wonder to him. It had been awhile since he'd fucked someone- that is, if that's want you wanted to do- and he was forgetting himself in the moment of it all. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, the worry of underperforming was beginning to bloom rather quickly, rather like one of Milo's own grass types. He had never gotten the appeal of those. As you began trailing kisses down his exposed stomach, he audibly moaned and reached out to stop you.

You were express traveling down the exposed line that connected his hip to his stomach when large, strong hands suddenly caught your shoulders in a tight squeeze. Looking up, Gordie's pinched, worried face almost made you laugh. It was such a disparity between the rings and flashy jacket, and how he acted on the gym's pitch just a wee bit ago.

"Mhm?" You urged neutrally, eyes half-lidded, and you could practically see him steaming red like any good Tamato berry would in a spicy curry. 

Gordie's hair was quickly becoming messier and messier the more he ran his hands through it. Call it a nervous tick. He did spend so long on doing it in the mornings, after all. Must be habit.

"It's.. It's been a bit since, uh, well-" He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your pretty eyes. Oh, how he loathed doing that.  
"M'what I'm saying is, I might not be up to-" He put his hand up to his mouth and coughed.

"-Standard."

After a tense moment, you couldn't help but visibly laugh at that one. Gym leaders were sort of revered, here. Not supposed to show weakness to the public in any capacity, just like Leon. Yet, here your former adversary was, one of the most powerful gym leaders in the region, worrying about finishing in his shorts while you practically climbed on him in a dingy oversized closet.

You allowed yourself to search his eyes for a moment. Respectfully, you couldn't give a Ditto's dick about how long he'd last. He was cute, you were willing, and you'd go for as long as the ride would take you. Instead of reassuring him, you simply rose up for a moment and patted his cheek with your palm with a smile. It was no concern of yours.

His relief was instant, and palpable. Gordie's head fell back against the wall once more without a word- what else was there to say? He was beginning to think he should take some notes out of your book. The less words to be said, the less possibility of mincing them up with things like this. He liked you.

You began to continue, shrugging off his nerves like your heavy backpack at a campsite. You were back to following your original goal of freeing his dick. It definitely looked like it needed it, so strained against his shorts like that, and you were more than happy to do the honors.

The zipper was undone with ease, and dark grey boxer briefs met your eyes. Less flashy than his storefront, but hey, you doubted your own underwear was much to gawk at, either. Stroking the big tent in his boxers with one hand, you rose back up to meet him with a wily look that could rival any Impidimp's. His height and built sat comfortably at stocky and tall, with a healthy amount of extra skin to stave off those cold mountain chills. He was incredibly warm as your free hand climbed under his shirt. You could spends hours alone admiring his physique and feeling him up, but something told you even Gordie would get fed up at a point and beg you take things further. 

That didn't sound too bad, all things considered. But the fact you two were still stuck in one of the gym's storage rooms made you inclined to treat the situation with a little more tact and urgency.

No worries, though. You were still going to get what you wanted from him. Just like chasing wild Rookidees in the brush. Surprisingly easy to catch. Your hand slipped through the opening in his underwear and met your goal, no muss, no fuss. If Gordie didn't like your direct way of doing things, he chose not to speak up about it.

He was laying in heaven with Arceus. He had ascended- no other explanation would explain how he was having this attractive trainer take their sweet, sweet time stroking his dick and stopping every so often to rub their thumb against its tip. His head was strained against the wall, eyes clinched shut and lip bitten to hell and back. Bugger it all: he may be the star of this gym, but that didn't mean he felt entirely confident enough to moan like he would elsewhere in this dangerous nook they chose to land in. Your hand was gliding up his chest and his breathing went stock still. 

You were getting tired of his nerves. You grabbed his hand, the one with the fancy rings, and held it so your thumb was on his palm and the rest of your fingers lay on top. His eyes went wide as he simply held it at chest level, and looked at him expectantly. 

"Choose."

"Ch-Choose?" his sunglasses finally began to fall down his nose, eyes asking more hysterical questions than his tongue could ever fathom doing at the moment. What did you mean, choose? His fingers clasped around your own uncertainly.

"What do you mean, choose? I'm not following-"

"Back or front. Ass, or..."

"Oh- Oh." His tongue caught up with his brain, and his hand moved from your own to drag itself down the front of his face, narrowly avoiding his sunglasses. He should probably take those off soon.

"...Oh?"

You gave him a withering look. Rocks in the brain as well as out on the field, perhaps?

That shut Gordie up quickly. Store front or back rooms, and something told him he should be quick about it. His fingers twitched. He knew which one he wanted, but the question remained simply if it was too forward. He would love to get his hand down your pants and give you the same treatment he was receiving, but his mother's sensibilities rang true in his head. 

"Be a gentleman, Gordie! The good ones will always choose chivalry."

But were you the ones his mother was talking about? It was most likely better safe than sorry. Or maybe not. Maybe he just wanted to feel up your ass first. 

His hand got the memo quickly, and ran staggeringly down your spine. Your clothes made for easy access to the area in question, and the endorphins he felt then were no match to as if he had won against you out on the pitch.

Your only congratulation on his decision was a tighter squeeze. He responded in kind, and soon found the heat in his groin urging him to find a place for his other hand. It rose to the occasion, draping over your shoulders, eager to get your body closer to the his own personal furnace.


End file.
